Girl, Missing Read Free Page B

hitched right up her legs.
    â€˜My mate reckons you’re really fit,’ she said, jerking her thumb towards a short redhead on the edge of the group of girls.
    I grinned as Jam blushed. He was always getting hit on by girls. I guess he is quite good-looking. Tall, with regular features and lovely smooth, golden skin.
    The hard-faced blonde put her hand on her hip. ‘So d’you wanna go out with her? She’s free tomorrow night,’ she said. There was a burst of giggles from the group at the other end of the counter.
    Jam was smiling, trying to be nice as he said no. He looked really embarrassed. The man approached with our pizza.
    I stood up and took the box. Then I turned to the girl. ‘Sorry.’ I touched Jam’s arm. ‘But he’s busy tomorrow night.’
    I let go of Jam and swept out of the shop. There was a chorus of sarky ‘Ooooo’s at my back. I smiled to myself again.
    It was funny how alike Jam and I were. Not interested in going out with anyone, just wanting to be friends. Well, friends with each other.
    Jam caught up with me as I set off up the high street.
    â€˜What did you mean?’ he said. ‘About tomorrow night?’
    I grinned at him. ‘I was hoping you’d help me get Mum out of the way so I can look through those diaries.’
    My plan was simple. Jam’s mum, Carla, was always saying she and my mum should get together, what with me and Jam being such good friends. So that night, after school, I asked her if Mum could visit her the very next day.
    â€˜She’d really like to get to know you,’ I lied.
    Carla was typically enthusiastic, if a little vague: ‘How lovely, darling, but tell her to come before seven, that’s when I start seeing clients.’
    Of course Mum didn’t want to go. Partly because she hates going anywhere. And partly because she thinks Jam’s mum is a total nut. She’s right, in fact – but that’s another story.
    â€˜What does “come before seven” mean?’ Mum said. ‘Suppose they’re having tea when I get there?’
    I sighed. ‘They don’t “have tea” like that. They all just drift in and out, getting food when they want it. Come on, Mum. Please. It’ll be really embarrassing if you won’t go.’ In the end Mum agreed.
    I reckoned Carla would keep Mum talking for at least an hour. Plenty of time for me to find the diaries in the attic and have a good look at them.
    Mum left our house at quarter past five the next day, still grumbling and issuing instructions about Rory not having chocolate before tea. Ten minutes later, Jam rang from his house.
    â€˜The package has arrived,’ he said.
    I giggled. ‘Don’t forget to ring me as soon as she leaves again,’ I said.
    As soon as Jam hung up, I raced down to the kitchen to grab as much chocolate as I could carry. I panted back up the stairs and into Rory’s room. His pudgy little face was bent over his PSP. Jam – in a heroic gesture of friendship – had lent him his
Legends of the Lost Empire
game.
    â€˜Here.’ I thrust the chocolate bars at him. ‘Now keep quiet.’
    I picked up my mobile and charged into Mum’s office.All her keys hung neatly on a row of hooks behind the desk. I shoved the set marked ‘attic’ in my pocket, then ran into Mum and Dad’s room, pulled down the loft ladder and climbed up.
    I’m guessing, of course, but I imagine most people’s attics are a bit of a mess. Bin bags, bits of old equipment, suitcases. That kind of stuff.
    Not ours.
    Mum has everything organised in trunks. Labelled trunks.
Clothes. School. University. Letters
. There.
Diaries
.
    My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the keys, trying one after the other in the lock. At last one of the keys turned with a satisfying click. I opened the trunk and peered inside at the neatly stacked rows of black notebooks. They were labelled in